They Lived
by Addicted1
Summary: He dreams in purple. Spoilers through 3.11 "Going Home."


He dreamt in purple. Sometimes in purple sparks or great bolts of purple lightning clawing into the sky, but always in billowing purple clouds.

In his dreams he knew the purple was dangerous, threatening, powerful.

He always felt safe there. In his purple dreams.

* * *

For as long as she could remember, she dreamt of snow. Large, beautiful flakes that coated trees and hillsides—vast landscapes that she'd never seen, covered in thick layers of white—complete and quiet.

She was always warm, but it would fade when she woke.

* * *

Everything he owned was Red Delicious red.

Purple was a girls' color.

And the purple felt too personal to share, even with his mom. He doesn't know why he didn't tell her about it when he was younger—those memories are vague, if happy and filled with Love. But it seems he missed the moment, if there ever was one, to tell anyone about the purple.

No one else seemed to _fee_l about a color. In chemistry lab, he'd heat the Bunsen burner too hot and add potassium chloride that he filched from the cabinet. For just a moment, he could see his shade of purple.

He'd gotten in trouble every day for a week before Dr. Pugh gave up and appointed him his lab assistant.

Now he had to titrate his own potassium chloride, but he'd make his purple flame and feel a deep _something_ in his soul. For just a moment.

The rest of the time he was a normal happy.

* * *

Sometimes she had the nagging feeling that her life didn't make complete sense.

How does a foster kid-turned-juvenile delinquent end up as a successful single parent with a stable job, living in Manhattan with the best, most well-adjusted son ever? As someone who'd never believed in happy endings, this felt too good to be true.

But she was grateful. For all the heartache that had gotten them there—_Neal, abandonment_—she was grateful. And determined not to mess up their good life.

It was a dream come true.

* * *

They were locals at the corner diner. It was a bit of a dive, but it was one of a dying breed of Mom and Pop greasy spoons in the city, and it felt like family.

Thursday night was their night, and they always ordered dessert. Hot chocolate with cinnamon for both of them. Apple pie a la mode for him and a banana split for her.

She bought apples at the grocery store every week and never ate a single one.

* * *

He wrote for the school paper. Mostly features with the occasional news or sports piece when needed. He had a knack for finding the emotional thread in a story, however mundane, and spinning it in a way that resonated with every reader.

He thought he might write a novel someday. His imagination was vivid.

It scared him.

He went to interview the Captain of the swim team. They were going to State's this year.

* * *

She hung up the phone with a feeling of mild satisfaction. With any luck, she'd be able to finish this file tomorrow. She still marveled at the luck at getting this job. Somehow, the judge that sentenced her remembered her and took pity on her when she got out. Found a work/study job for her and, when she got her GED, fast-tracked her for a position conducting background checks for OPM.

It wasn't glamorous work, but it allowed her to stay home with Henry when he was little. And she was good at it. She'd earned a reputation for being able to find even the most elusive of sources needed to close a case. Something else she was good at, apparently.

The timer dinged on the oven. She pulled the bubbling lasagna out, savoring the smell. Henry always made fun of her, but she swore she could smell the kick of the red pepper flakes.

* * *

They always had fun on their annual trip to Acadia National Park. The drive to Maine took eight hours, and his mom grumbled when she paid the tolls—_"Why do we pay taxes if we still have to pay tolls?"_—but they made their pilgrimage without fail.

Each year, he was certain he'd lose his fingers and toes to frostbite. His mother was transfixed by the snow covering the trees; he was convinced she was immune to the cold when it snowed, though she always complained about it when it rained.

"It's just different," she would answer his teasing with a shrug.

Sometimes Maine felt more like home than home.

He'd watch the sky turn to purple as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

The sky in New York didn't come in that shade, even when you could glimpse it between the buildings.

* * *

Henry won the Regional Journalism Impact Award for his article on the underpaid teachers forced into retirement due to budget cuts. It wasn't a new story, but he brought a fresh voice to the persistent problem.

She smiled as she cut the article out and added it to her thickening scrapbook of his artwork, writing, and milestones.

She was so lucky. To think how close she'd been to giving him up.

He'd asked to have his award matted in purple instead of his usual red. She'd teased that his school mascot, the Monarchs, had finally gotten to his head. (She'd always thought the Monarchs were a weird mascot for an American public school, but she supposed New York was a colony before it was a state and guessed that made it okay, sort of. Still, she'd told Henry that he was a butterfly rather than royalty.)

As she stepped back from it, though, she had to admit that the golden letters of "Henry Swan" popped against the purple backdrop and that, combined with the antique wooden frame she'd found, it really was elegant.

* * *

Every day, he went to school, and she went to work. And they came home to each other.

And so they lived happily.

And dreamt of purple and snow.

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_**A/N: Reviews would be appreciated. Thank you for reading.**_


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